Longarm and the Train Robbers (5 page)

"Even if it might
tarnish my father's name and reputation?"

"Your father is
gone now.  It's your reputation that you must establish, and I
think you're going to do one hell of a good job of
that."

Martha smiled. 
When she smiled, it was as if the sun peeked through a blanket of
dark clouds and warmed a man's soul.  "My father always hid a key
on the porch," she said.  "I doubt it will be hard to
find."

It wasn't hard at
all to find.  In less than a minute, they had the key and were
opening the door.  At its threshold, Martha Noble
hesitated.

"What's
wrong?"

"I don't know.  I
just wish that my father and I had not quarreled so much.  I wish
that we hadn't fought the last time we were together."

"Put that behind
you and look to your future.  Obviously you've had some troubles
with a bad marriage, and your father might not have been quite
the knight in shining armor that a daughter would have hoped
for.  No matter.  He worked for the railroad and he owed his
allegiance to his employer."

"And not to
justice?"

"Never mind that,"
Longarm said, gently pushing the young woman into the house and
closing the door behind them.

Martha pirouetted
around in a complete circle, her eyes missing nothing. "This
house still smells like him," she finally said.  "He smoked an
unusually aromatic blend of Turkish pipe tobacco.  You could
follow it through the house and locate him with your eyes
closed."

"It's a fine house
and nicely furnished," Longarm said, admiring the expensive
decor.  "Your father had expensive tastes."

"Yes, he
did."

Martha passed
through the parlor and showed Longarm the library, kitchen, and
other downstairs rooms that were primarily filled with French and
Italian furniture and antiques.  The ceramic floor tiles
themselves were works of art, and the walls were covered with
original artwork.

"I can't believe
that no one has lived here since your father passed
away."

"Didn't I mention
that he only died two weeks ago?"

"No."

"Well, he did." 
Martha took Longarm's hand and led him to a beautiful staircase
of polished walnut.  "The bedrooms are upstairs.  Would you like
to see them?"

"I would," Longarm
said, unable to hide his enthusiasm.

"Then come
along."

She led him up the
staircase and they entered the first bedroom, which had belonged
to her father.  Martha studied the room for a long time in
silence, then backed out.  When Longarm looked at her closely, he
saw that her eyes were misted with tears.

"And this," she
said, trying to put some lilt in her voice, "was my bedroom.  He
told me he kept it exactly the way it was when I
left."

It was decorated
in white and lavender.  There were lace curtains and a bedspread
to match.  The furniture was heavy and very expensive.

"Nice bed," he
offered.

"It's very
comfortable."  Martha walked over and sat down on her bed. When
Longarm remained poised beside the door, she studied him for a
moment, and then raised a finger and crooked it for him to come
join her.

Longarm needed no
further urging.  Martha Noble was not the most beautiful woman he
had ever seen or desired.  She was pretty, but not classically
beautiful.  Her nose was a little too large, her lower jaw
slightly undershot, and her figure less than perfect.  But, after
just twenty-four hours, he felt as if he had known her forever. 
She'd gone from being critical and naive to being sympathetic and
understanding.  Martha was not the same woman who had left
Laramie on her way to confront the ghosts of her childhood in
Cheyenne.

"Take me," she
pleaded, clutching him tightly.  "Smother me and make love to me
as hard and as long as you can!  Help me forget about last
night."

"I can't do that,"
he said as he began to undress her.  "Not really, But I can sweep
away your doubts and fears for a while and take your mind off the
bad things of the past.  I can fill you with love."

"Then please do
it.  Only hurry!"

Longarm did not
profess to understand women.  He never had and he never would. 
Men who swore they understood the workings of the female mind
were either fools or liars.  All that Longarm was certain of was
his ability to make love to a woman so that, when he had to leave
her, she was happy and satisfied.

Martha practically
tore her own clothes off, and as soon as Longarm had his boots
and pants off she was wild with desire.  "Hurry!" she begged,
reaching for his manhood.  "I want you in me now!"

He pulled her
silken-haired thighs wide apart, and when he reached down to
guide his throbbing manhood into her honeypot, Martha was wet and
ready. He felt her fingernails dig into his muscular buttocks as
he plunged his rod into her with a series of hard, quick
thrusts.

"Yes!" she cried,
throwing her head back and then rolling it from side to side.
 "Oh, Custis, what would I have done without you up on that
mountain?"

"You'd have
survived," he grunted as their bodies pounded at each other like
waves crashing against rocks.  "You'd have survived!"

She found his
mouth.  Her tongue pushed between his teeth, and he could feel
her body surging powerfully against his own.  Spurred by her
extraordinary passion, Longarm pinned her to the bed as his own
body matched her intensity.

On and on they
went, each lifting higher and higher.  Finally, Martha threw back
her head.  A thin bead of perspiration covered her upper lip and
her eyelids fluttered as she screamed, "Oh...  oh!"

Longarm
understood.  He felt his own control crumble like a dam in a
flood as his manhood spewed its torrent into her eager body.  And
for a few moments, he too forgot about the train wreck, the
death, and the carnage.

She would not let
him go the rest of the afternoon.  It was only when darkness fell
on Cheyenne and his stomach was rumbling that she yielded to his
plea for food and something to drink.

"I'll take you out
to dinner," he said.  "I doubt that there will be food in the
house."

"You're all the
food I need."

"I'm sorry," he
told her, "but my stomach tells me that I need more than
lovemaking."

"Then your stomach
lies," she said with amusement.

"Besides, I can't
stay here."

Martha blinked. 
"Why not?"

"Because you're
trying to establish yourself in Cheyenne and it won't be easy. 
The last thing you want to do is to advertise a live-in lover. 
That will kill your chances with the respectable people of this
town."

"To hell with
them."

"No," Longarm
said, climbing out of her bed.  "You can't say that.  You need
their support, Martha.  And you deserve their support.  You came
here to make some atonement for your father, and I'm not going to
be a part of spoiling that."

She laughed
softly.  "Why, you're a real moralist!  Who would have believed
this conversation?  Longarm, I'm offering you... everything.  I
want to marry you."

It was his turn to
laugh.  "Marry and keep me?  Thanks, but no thanks."

"I didn't mean
that the way it sounded.  Of course I wouldn't 'keep you.' I
heard Mr. Ashmore offer you a job with the Bank of Wyoming.  You
could accept his offer."

"He died in the
wreck," Longarm said quietly.

"Oh."  Martha
cleared her throat.  "I'd forgotten.  All right then, go to his
bank and tell them what Mr. Ashmore offered you.  Ask for the job
and then we'll be married."

"Just like
that?"

"Not just like
that!"  Martha bounced out of bed without a stitch of clothing. 
She threw her arms around Longarm's neck and hugged him. 
"Custis, more than anything, I want to be your wife.  I want to
marry my hero."

Longarm disengaged
himself.  "Martha, you're a beautiful young woman and you're
going to marry again.  And you're going to be more successful
than your father.  But we're not going to get
married."

"y
not?"

"Because," he said
simply, "I don't want to get married.  What I want and have to do
is find Eli Wheat and the men that derailed that train and caused
so many good and innocent people to die--some of them slowly and
in great pain."

Martha stepped
back.  "All right.  So we don't get married until you deliver Mr.
Wheat and his friends to the hangman.  Then can we
marry?"

"I like my
work."

"Your work will be
your death!  Sooner or later, someone will ambush or shoot you in
the back.  Or your horse will spill you over a cliff or something
terrible will happen."

"I don't think
so," he said, gentling her fears.  "I lead a sort of charmed
life."

"I don't believe
that for a moment.  Look at the scars you carry on your body! 
You look like you've been stitched up in five or six places, and
I recognize a bullet wound when I see one."

"I'm like a cat
with nine lives," he said with a wink.  "And with eight of them
gone!"

Longarm's stomach
rumbled in protest.  "Martha, let's go out and get something to
eat."

Her shoulders
slumped.  "Just tell me that you'll come back when you've
captured or killed Eli and his gang.  That's all I
ask."

"It may take some
time and some doing."

"You'll do it. 
Promise me, please?"

"All right," he
conceded, "I'll come back."

"Good!  My father
was close friends with Edward's father, who founded the Bank of
Wyoming.  I'll speak to the old gentleman tomorrow and ask him to
hold that job opening."

"Now-"

"Just in case!" 
Martha added quickly.  "Just in case."

Longarm dipped his
chin in reluctant agreement.  Martha reached down and began to
play with his flaccid rod, and he decided to wait a few minutes
before getting dressed, just in case.

CHAPTER
4

The next morning,
Longarm paid a visit to the telegraph office to send a message to
his boss, U.S. Marshal Billy Vail, back in Denver.

"All right,
Deputy," the telegraph operator said, pencil poised over pad.
"Shoot."

"To Marshal
Vail."  Longarm paused, gathered his thoughts, and began to
dictate.  "Prisoner Eli Wheat escaped custody during train
derailment near Laramie Summit.  Stop.  Many passengers killed
and injured and mail car robbed.  Stop.  Appears to be same gang
that has derailed other U.P. trains. Stop.  Going after Eli Wheat
and train wreck gang.  Stop.  Need one hundred and fifty dollars
for outfit and travel expenses.  Stop."

"Don't you want me
to add your name?"

"He'll know who
the telegram is from."

"Terrible thing
that happened up there," the operator said, shaking his head.  "I
knew most of the train crew that died.  They were all good men.
Didn't deserve something like that to happen to 'em."  "Neither
did the passengers."

"Mr. Ashmore left
a wife and three small children," the telegraph operator added
quietly.  "I tell you, there's going to be some sad grievin' in
this town for a good long while."

"I know.  All that
I can do is to try and bring whoever caused that train wreck to a
quick and final justice.  Which reminds me, I need to buy a
horse."

"Bob's Livery is
the best place to go.  He's a good, honest man and takes care of
his customers.  I guarantee that he'll treat you
right."

"Thanks," Longarm
said, before asking for directions.  Fifteen minutes later, he
was looking at a pen of saddle horses over a split-rail
fence.

"Now that bay
gelding with the blaze on his face is one of the better animals,"
Bob said.  "He's an older horse, but steady and
sound."

"What about that
dun?"

"I wouldn't trust
his legs.  Bought him from a horse trader for next to nothing
because I figured he might have some fundamental
unsoundness."

"And the
palomino?"

"Hard-mouthed and
stubborn.  He's half bronc.

"What about that
tall sorrel with the white star on his forehead?"

Bob smiled. 
"You've a keen eye for good horseflesh.  Cowboy rode him into
town and made a big fuss over the horse, but he wanted cash real
bad. Said he had a sister in Omaha that needed his help and he
had to have some cash for travel.  I paid forty dollars for the
animal after watching the cowboy ride for about ten minutes. 
Seems like a good horse and the cowboy said he was fast and had
endurance.  He's a little big-headed and Roman-nosed."

"That doesn't
matter to me," Longarm said.  "I like his looks and the size. 
How much do you want?"

"For you, same as
I paid.  And for a total of fifty dollars, I'll throw in an old
saddle, bridle, and blanket."